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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854677">l'intermède français</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeryian/pseuds/archeryian'>archeryian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Post-COI, coi spoilers, running off to france is the only acceptable way to problem solve now</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:00:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeryian/pseuds/archeryian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When they return home, her father will still be dead, she will still be married to James, and her fealty to Lilith won't be forgotten. Yet in the dim light of Maxim's with Matthew's contagious smile making it impossible to not return it with one of her own, everything felt much farther away than just across the Channel.</p><p> </p><p>Matthew, Cordelia, and Paris.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cordelia Carstairs &amp; Matthew Fairchild, Cordelia Carstairs/James Herondale, Cordelia Carstairs/Matthew Fairchild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>l'intermède français</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i have a lot of thoughts and hot takes on coi but Y’ALL. Matthew and Cordelia running off to Paris to escape their pain and problems? it's what dreams are made of</p><p>no beta fyi, we write and then run away like Fairstairs </p><p>(Les Yeux Ouverts by Sylvie Vartan was on repeat while i wrote this fic! Very nice for the Maxim's scene imo)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>PARIS, FRANCE</p><p>"Matthew."</p><p>"Cordelia?"</p><p>“<em>Matthew</em>.”</p><p>“It’s only the necessities!”</p><p>A butler put the sixth, and final, ribboned box on the floor of the hotel room before following his colleagues out the door. Cordelia eyed the elaborate boxes from her seat by the window. “It’s more than enough.”</p><p>Matthew plopped down into the ornate cherrywood chair in the corner of her hotel room and grinned. “Daisy, I promised a new wardrobe worthy of coming to Paris with me and I am nothing if not a man of my word.”</p><p>She sipped her tea.“When I let you go shopping without me, I thought you'd show some restraint.”</p><p>“This is restraint,” Matthew argued, not at all put out by Cordelia’s speculative look. “The dressmaker had wonderful new fabric and cuts. I wish you had been there. There was so much more we could have gotten.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, brows furrowing in concern. “How are you feeling by the way?”</p><p>Their arrival in Paris early that morning had been curtailed by a small fever on Cordelia’s part. It seemed one did not get away with running through snowy streets in a dress and and slippers without consequences. “Much better. Some tea and sleep and I’m peachy keen. What are our plans for tomorrow?”</p><p>“First full day out in Paris,” Matthew jumped on to his feet, his face alight with excitement. “I have it all planned out.”</p><p>A smile bloomed on Cordelia’s face; his enthusiasm was infectious. “Will I be informed of these plans?”</p><p>“Why, when they could be surprises?” He pointed at her. “You can plan the day after in retaliation. We’ll surprise each other.”</p><p>Cordelia thought of the days of sharing gossip in the corner of Enclave ballrooms, watching Matthew flirt with anyone and everyone, drinking and hurting. That daring and vibrant boy was now one of her closest friends and here they were in Paris. What a difference a few weeks made. “I must begin to brainstorm then.”</p><p>Matthew winked at her as he made his way toward the door. “Until dinner then, dear Daisy.”</p><p>He left to his own room, leaving Cordelia to watch the flickering street lamps outside, thinking that Matthew Fairchild had already surprised her plenty.</p><hr/><p>Any doubts about the wisdom of their actions evaporated the next morning. After croissants and tea in the hotel, they started their day sightseeing at the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. She had visited during her last stay in Paris, and the flood of vendors and patrons sent a thrumming excitement through her. </p><p>“Crepe for <em>mon crepe</em>?”</p><p>Cordelia turned and choked out a laugh as Matthew handed her the chocolate filled dessert. He'd gone off to a vendor with a green canopy that sold fresh crepes. “Why am I your crepe?”</p><p>“I was trying it out as a new nickname,” Matthew said before biting into his. A bit of chocolate smeared on his cheek. “Should I keep looking?”</p><p>“Please do.” Before she could stop herself, she reached out to wipe it away. Matthew stiffened and Cordelia immediately pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry, I—”</p><p>Matthew offered a placating smile. “Nothing to be sorry about. Can you imagine chocolate on my face in these spats? I'm in your debt.”</p><p>She relaxed. Nothing had changed between them, she realized with great relief. That their friendship was still strong when the rest of her life was in tatters meant the world to her. “They <em>are</em> very daring and not complimentary with the color brown.” </p><p>"<em>Par où devrions-nous commencer</em>?" Matthew asked with exaggerated flare.</p><p>Her eyes swept over the stalls and people milling around, the gardens and fountains that dotted the street, the Arc de Triomphe looming in the distance.</p><p>Lucie would have loved it. She always talked about Paris as a writer's dream. <em>But she's not here and she probably wouldn't even want to be,</em> a harsh voice in Cordelia's head whispered. She ignored it and looked at Matthew.  "You're lucky I remember some of my French," she pointed a gloved hand toward a shop selling outlandish hats and glass blown earrings. "Let's start over there?" </p><p>If he had any thoughts of London, he didn't mention them. Instead, he pulled Cordelia toward the towering stacks of hats. When he left the stall twenty minutes later sporting an ill fitting bowler hat and her sides hurt from laughing, she doesn't think of home for the rest of the day.</p><hr/><p>“The Grand Palais was built a few years ago. Charlie mentioned it when he came back from his travel year. He doesn’t have much taste, but even he appreciated the exhibitions.”</p><p>They were standing outside a large stone building, carved in the walls were flowers, entire stone gardens carved into the building. It was unlike any of the other building in the area, topped with a gold-framed glass roof. “It’s gorgeous,” she admired.</p><p>Matthew was gazing at the carvings with equal awe. “I wonder what beauties are inside.”</p><p>They made their way through the art exhibit. There were oil painting of landscapes,  stretching hills, lush gardens, portraits of aristocrats that were incredibly lifelike. After an hour of looking, and arguing the merits of having their own Dorian Gray style painting, she and Matthew left with a desire to see more of the art scene of the city. Matthew's steps slowed when he noticed the hall to the left of the art exhibition. Cordelia looked over to what had caught his eyes. It was a hallway filled with<span class="Apple-converted-space"> diagrams of the human body. </span></p><p>“It’s a science exhibition,” he said softly. “Charles had mentioned that, but I'd forgotten. Kit would love it.” </p><p>Christopher. Of course he missed his friends. She didn't know the longest time the Merry Thieves had gone without seeing each other. </p><p>Leaving London didn't mean they forgot everything, despite Matthew's hopes for both of them.  She wrapped her hand around his in solidarity. “Well, if he and Anna come visit, we’ll come back here with them.”</p><p>Matthew, who had been staring off at a sculpture of lungs, blinked. His hand patted his coat as if searching for something, then he glanced at her and lowered his hand. “Right, of course. Off we go then."</p><p>Outside, it had begun to rain. They had been lucky so far; it was still winter in Paris, but the skies had been clear until then.</p><p>"I don't suppose you brought an umbrella?" Cordelia asked as fat drops landed on the steps of the Grand Palais.</p><p>“Won't let a bit of rain ruin our evening,” Matthew promised before jogging off to a nearby elderly man with a large cart. He came back with a smooth wood handled umbrella with black overlay. It popped open and Matthew spun it skywards until it covered them both.</p><p>“I am perfectly capable of holding the umbrella,” Cordelia promised as she huddled under it.</p><p>Matthew gripped the handle to his chest when she offered to hold it.“None of that. What would the people of Paris think if they saw a lady carrying the umbrella? I could never show my face in the city again. My reputation would be in tatters.”</p><p>“Well, we can’t have that.” The hem of her dress was damp but the umbrella left them both ample space. </p><p>"Would you like to return to our hotel or continue on?" Matthew's gaze was open and curious. She knew if she wanted, they'd go back without another word. It was the sensible thing to do, but she didn't want to be sensible. They were here to adventure.</p><p>"I thought you said rain wouldn't ruin our evening." His eyes brightened at her response and he led her away from the museum. As the sky darkened and the rain lightened, they walked several cobblestoned streets in amicable chatter. Before long, they arrived at a great alabaster and gold accented bridge.</p><p><span class="Apple-converted-space">"T</span>he Pont Alexandre," Matthew declared.</p><p>For a bridge, it was glorious. Arched with smooth white stone and gold overlain pieces, the pathway over the Seine seemed something out of a story book rather than a pathway to another quarter in Paris. Lampposts dotted the bridge, the light twinkling against the churning river below as small crowds walked along the path. </p><p>Matthew extended his arm and she took it gratefully. “The Eiffel Tower is across the bridge, isn't it?" she asked.</p><p>He nodded and watched the passing couples. “And the Invalides quarter.”</p><p>Side by side, they made their way across the bridge. She’d caught a glimpse of Pont Alexandre once, but Mâmân had wanted to return home to take care of Baba, and Alastair hadn’t been in the mood to explore with her. When she turned to Matthew, she found him already watching her.</p><p>"The last time I was here,” she swallowed past the lump in her throat at the thought of Elias, their last conversations, and his pale body laying on a slab of stone in the Silent City. “My father wasn’t well. He hardly left the house we were staying in. I still thought him to be sick.”</p><p>“Do you want to talk about him?” Matthew asked tentatively.</p><p>Her eyes burned. “I don't know what to say. I loved him. I miss him,” she watched as parents walked past with their young son hopping along. “And yet I’m so angry at him.”</p><p>“Death doesn’t erase the pain or anger," Matthew said. "Doesn't mean you loved him any less.”</p><p>She wiped at her eyes and forced an exhale. “Right. No more of this. I saw some of Paris but if this trip has shown me anything is that there is much left to see.”</p><p>“And we,” Matthew offered an upturn hand, his smile as bright as the lanterns on the Pont Alexandre. “have all the time in the world.”</p><p>Cordelia placed her hand in his, curling their fingers together. “We do.”</p><p>The evening was cold and crisp and in the reflection of the Seine river were glittering lights and a young couple enjoying it the best they could.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Exactly what kind of party is this?” Cordelia asked, picking up the hem of her sapphire blue gown. Their carriage had just left them a block away from the Sacré-Cœur Basilica.</p><p>“A gathering of those of ill-repute and raucous behavior," Matthew straightened his velvet plum jacket as they walked down a stone pathway. "So of course we must be there as well.”</p><p>They approached a brick building with a charcoal grey door. Matthew knocked three times before a gruff looking werewolf answered. Shadowhunters were hardly welcomed at these sort of events, but the werewolf said nothing as Matthew gave his name and a smile. He let the both of them in with a grunt and shut the door behind them.</p><p>There were silver curtains hung along the walls and a small stage at the far end of the room.</p><p>"There is a troupe of faeries who perform Shakespeare here every night." Matthew said in response to her unasked question. He reached for a glass of wine from a passing waiter as he examined the room. She eyed the glass, but to her knowledge it was his first of the day, so she didn't comment on it.</p><p>Matthew's eyes brightened as he spotted a green skinned warlock with snowy white hair. “Professor Fell?”</p><p>The warlock, who had been speaking with a purple haired fairy, turned. When he saw Matthew, he frowned. “Fairchild. Why am I surprised?” Then his eyes widened. “Almighty, is Lightwood here?”</p><p>“At ease, Professor. Christopher is at home, very far from here.” The warlock relaxed a fraction but continued to watch Matthew warily. “I thought you were in Capri, sir?”</p><p>“I was, but Magnus Bane called for my assistance back in London Town, so my relaxation has been cut short. I’m only here for the night.” Professor Fell’s eyes slid toward her. “And who is this?”</p><p>“Forgive my manners," Matthew said, and gestured to her. She smiled in greeting. "This is Cordelia Carstairs. Cordelia, this is Professor Fell. He taught us at the Academy."</p><p>He inclined his head. "Ragnor is fine to you. I'm only professor to this hooligan." Matthew beamed. Before Cordelia could ask about the Academy, Ragnor's brow furrowed. “Were you the one meant to marry the Herondale boy? Magnus mentioned his Shadowhunter friends’ son was marrying a Carstairs. Said they were thrilled.”</p><p>Her smile slid off her face. “Yes, I'm recently married."</p><p>"Cordelia is…on holiday," Matthew said with force cheer. "I am merely accompanying her as James’ <em>parabatai</em>.”</p><p>
  <em>I will not marry him. There never was anyone for me but you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank God.</em>
</p><p>Ragnor Fell's expression changed but before he can comment, or Cordelia can let herself be overwhelmed with thoughts of James and Grace, a violin begins to play.</p><p>"The performance is starting," Matthew whispered. She cleared her throat and he bid farewell to Ragnor Fell. He gave her hand a supportive squeeze as they navigated their ways to their seats.</p><p>As magical as Paris had been, there were moments where she felt like James being pulled into Belial’s realm. London and all its problems surrounded her, pulled on her, never really stopping.</p><hr/><p>“Tonight, we dine at Maxim’s!”</p><p>When Matthew had suggested she pick the fanciest dress in her wardrobe for the night's excursion, she'd been curious but chose the most daring option. The moment they walk into the famed restaurant, she's grateful she did.</p><p>The inside of Maxim's was dimly lit, mahogany carvings throughout the restaurant. Burgundy patterned wallpaper complimented the dark wood, and every table was decorated with crisp, white table cloths, low lit candles, and the most finely dressed Parisians she'd seen yet. </p><p>Cordelia adjusted her scarlet gown, smoothing the black lace trimming at her waist. Before long, they're greeted by a friendly young man with mousy brown hair in the ornate entryway. "Good evening," he greeted in French. "Your name, sir?"</p><p>"Matthew Fairchild."</p><p>The man looked down at his list and nodded. "Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild. I am Benoit and I will bring you to your seats. Right this way.”</p><p>Matthew coughed. “Actually—” but Benoit was already several feet ahead, no hesitation in his confident stride. </p><p>Cordelia patted Matthew’s arm. He threw her a flustered look as they followed the waiter through maze of crowded tables. "It's not a problem. It would probably be better to let them think that anyway. Two young people like us, dining unmarried? Think of the scandal," she teased.</p><p>A cheeky grin spread across his face. He side stepped an elderly couple. “I suppose not every moment must be spent scandalizing the fine people of France,”</p><p>“Here, here.”</p><p>“Of course, a window seat is mandatory,” Benoit said, pulling out Cordelia's chair with a smile. Matthew plopped in his own seat and ordered champagne for them both.</p><p>“<em>Merci</em>,” they replied in unison. Once Benoit left, Cordelia turned to Matthew. “Why is a window seat mandatory?”</p><p>He chuckled. “The owner is well known for his operating motto: a beauty should always be seated by the window. It's good for business. And as glorious as my waistcoat is, I believe he was referencing you, Daisy.” Matthew cleared his throat.“You look lovely. My greatest apologies for neglecting to say so before.”</p><p>Cordelia warmed at his expression; genuine and without expectation. Before, she would've assumed it was Matthew's normal flattery. Knowing what she did now, it filled her with an odd jittery pleasure. “Thank you.” After a moment of staring at each other, she wrung her hands and looked down at her menu. “Your French is better than mine. You must advise me on what to order.”</p><p>Quick to change the subject, Matthew placed a hand over his heart. “My solemn duty.”</p><p>While examining the soup options, Cordelia's mind drifted. Here she was, in one of Paris' famed restaurant with a beautiful boy who cared for her and who cared for in equal measure.</p><p>When they returned home, her father will still be dead, she will still be married to James, and her fealty to Lilith won't be forgotten. Yet in the dim light of Maxim's with Matthew's contagious smile making it impossible to not return it with one of her own, Curzon Street felt much farther away than just across the Channel.</p><p>Maybe this city could make her forget.  </p><p>"What do you say to sharing a chocolate saffron souffle for dessert?" Matthew suggested.</p><p>She pushed aside her worries and straightened. The night was young and full of possibilities, she wouldn't spoil it with pains she couldn't fix. "It sounds perfect."</p><p>After supper when they’ve been stuffed with chestnut soup, beef chops, divinely roasted vegetables, and a fluffy souffle, they leave the restaurant full of food and giddiness.</p><p>“The mushrooms,” Cordelia sighed as the cold night air hit her face. “I could have had two plates of them.”</p><p>“The foie gras? I am a new man.” Before he could offer it, she reaches for his arm and he doesn't hesitate to pull her close. They rock back and forth as they make their way back to their hotel.</p><p>Cordelia threw her head back and looked at the stars. She'd enjoyed a few glasses of champagne with dinner and it felt like it was bubbling through her. For this moment, with stars in her veins and in the sky, happiness and freedom felt in reach.</p><p>“Daisy?” </p><p>Cordelia turned to Matthew. His expression was soft and solemn. “Yes?”</p><p>"Thank you," he whispered. The bustle of the city had died down, the only sound to be heard was their steps against the concrete and Matthew's low voice.</p><p>"For what?"</p><p>He tightened their arms together. “For coming with me.”</p><p>To an outsider, they would have appeared like any other young couple walking home on a late evening. To Cordelia, they were two Shadowhunters who could finally have a moment to breathe. "Thank you for inviting me."</p><hr/><p>CORNWALL, ENGLAND</p><p>Rain fell in heavy sheets onto the sprawling green hills of the English countryside. James felt the weather was a kindred spirit as he watched the storm from the second floor window.</p><p>Lucie was downstairs with their parents. Angel knew how his sister would get out of trouble for all this, but he’d left them to seek out some quiet. After days of searching and panic, he needed it. The library was less extensive than the one in London, but he found some comfort in being surrounded by familiar tomes and titles.</p><p>There had been little comfort the past few days. Cordelia and Matthew’s departure was constantly on his mind in the moments he wasn’t sick with worry over Lucie.</p><p>
  <em>By now you will know that Cordelia and I have gone to Paris.</em>
</p><p>The letter was tucked in his coat. Whenever he had privacy he would take it out and reread it. The paper had already become creased and worn, but he couldn’t stop himself from staring at it and wondering how he’d ruined everything so terribly.</p><p><em>You must see that in the situation we have now, there are four unhappy people.</em> </p><p>The explanations for the bracelet, Grace, his heart’s truth, all mottled in his throat. The words were desperate to be let out, but the two people he needed to tell most were miles away.Maybe he deserved it. How much pain had he caused Cordelia? He loved her so painfully much and now that he knew he did, she was out of reach.</p><p>How much joy was she feeling being in Paris with Matthew? The two shared jokes and a sense of adventure. They were close friends. He’d noticed even with the bracelet on. Did she return his affections?</p><p>
  <em>Surely you care for Daisy even if you do not love her, and want her to be happy.</em>
</p><p>James shut his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold pane of glass. </p><p>“Darling.” He jumped at the voice and turned to see his mother standing in the doorway in her blouse and grey wool skirt, small frown in place. “Supper is in an hour.”</p><p>“Alright.” He thought that would be the end of it, but Tessa lingered. After a moment's hesitation, she walked in the library and shut the door behind her.</p><p>“Is something bothering you?” There were dark rings under his mother’s eyes. The past few days had been hard on all of them.</p><p>He offered her a strained smile. “I'm just worried about Lucie.”</p><p>Tessa walked closer, affection and worry in her eyes. “That’s not all of it.”</p><p>James returns his gaze to the window. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>“A mother knows.” The letter felt heavier in his pocket than a single piece of paper had right to be. “Does it have to do with Cordelia and Matthew?”</p><p>His head snapped back to her. “How did you know?”</p><p>There was no judgment or anger in Tessa’s face, just concern. “Your father. He sees nothing wrong with them being gone, but he’s distracted right now. What’s going on? Why were you all going to Paris? Have you sent word to them since we’ve been here?”</p><p>How could he even begin to explain? This was not the time to add to his mother’s pain. “It’s complicated, Mam. Everything has become very complicated." It's all that he can bare to admit.</p><p>“Jamie,” Tessa said. She placed a hand on his shoulder and James felt very much like a boy again. As a child, he would talk to his mother about his problems, have her hug him and reassure him the world would be set right. He was married and nearly eighteen, but he had never stopped needing her. “Everything becomes less complicated when one can talk it out.”</p><p>His resolve wavered but before he could say a word, the door swung open again. This time it was his father in the doorway. All worries and pain about Cordelia and Matthew fade at the look on Will's face.</p><p>“There you two are.” His hair was in disarray, the slight graying at his temples more pronounced. James and his mother both stiffened. “Inquisitor Bridgestock is on his way. He knows.”</p><hr/><p>“<em>Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix!</em>”</p><p>Cordelia’s heart raced at the declaration. The soaring notes of the opera singer left her unable to look away. “<em>Comme s’ouvrent les fleurs aux baisers de l’aurore!</em>”</p><p>“<em>Dalila! Dalila! Je t’aime!</em>"</p><p>The scene, despite the scandalous caresses of the singers on stage, enraptured her. The story played out on stage and even though she knew the ending, she desperately hoped Samson could resist Delilah's spell. He didn't. When the pair are dead and the curtain closed on <em>Samson et Dalila</em>, Matthew and Cordelia joined in the thunderous applause of the opera crowd.</p><p>She walked in a daze as they collected their coats and she and Matthew spilled onto the street. "We know the ending and yet I always want it to be different," she admitted to him.</p><p>Matthew seemed deep in thought. “Delilah's song in Act Two? <em>Mon Dieu</em>. You can hear Samson's guilt at the end.”</p><p>Cordelia sighed, her heart still thrumming along to the notes of the final song. “He never really loved her, he was made to believe he did. It's not his fault he was under Delilah's power.”</p><p>"At least his people understood and they were able to know the truth at the end," Matthew said as he tightened his scarf and then helped her with hers, something that had become habit.</p><p>"It doesn't take away the damage," Cordelia argued.</p><p>"Very true." Their carriage pulled up to the curb and he offered his hand as she stepped inside. He'd done it a dozen times since their arrival to the city, but the casualness in which he did it, the lack of hesitation she had in taking his hand in hers, gave Cordelia pause. She blinked as he climbed in after her. "I saw the London opera house perform this and it was much less enchanting. I wonder what the performance would like in Venice."</p><p>"I've never been to Venice," Cordelia admitted. "Only Rome."</p><p>"I shall add it to the list of places we must go."</p><p>"There's a list now?" she asked, voice mirthful.</p><p>"As you said, there is so much to see." The carriage was dimly lit and though neither could say with certainty, a blush spread across both their cheeks.</p><hr/><p>“We have a magical day ahead,” Matthew promised a few mornings later.</p><p>“Oh?” Cordelia asked, shutting her hotel door behind her. Each night, dreams of snake eyed women, Cortana melting in her grasp, and Belial's laugh lessened. The previous night had been accompanied by nothing but peaceful slumber. She finally felt like her energy matched Matthew's as they walked down the carpeted halls. Once again, she tried to tie her scarf around her neck but fumbled with it.</p><p>“A day of adventure,” he responded exuberantly. He reached forward and made quick work of fixing her scarf. The gesture was entirely friendly and familiar, but this time she could feel warmth of his fingers lightly brush her neck. “A day full of nature and crepes.”</p><p>Cordelia cleared her throat and ignored the warmth that had spread to her toes. “What does a day of adventure entail?”</p><p>Mathew eyed her skirts then looked up mischievously. “Bike riding.”</p><hr/><p>“I haven’t ridden since I was young.”</p><p>"We still are young, Daisy."</p><p>"Somehow," Cordelia responded, adjusting her grip on the handle bars, "I doubt the patrons of the Jardin du Luxembourg will agree when one of us mows them down."</p><p>"We'll be flawless." Matthew's bike tipped sideways as he said this and it was, therefore, not exactly comforting. </p><p>Then as it usually did with him, things became fast and fun. Once they'd both gotten used to the peddles, they barreled down the sharp corners of the park, narrowly avoiding crashing several times.</p><p>The wind whipped against her skirt and hair, but it didn't bother her. The faster she went, the more it was like being in the motorcar on their way to find Wayland the Smith. </p><p>Matthew stood cautiously on the seat of his bike, hooting with joy when it didn't flop over. "I will confer with the Clave upon our return. All Shadowhunters must ride these into battle. Oh, how the demons will fear us."</p><p>Laughter bubbled out of her chest. "Oh yes, a Ravenor demon against two wheels? They will put seraph blades to shame."</p><p>"Watch out!”</p><p>Cordelia and Matthew, who had been grinning at each other, looked up to see an elderly couple crossing the road. She slammed on her breaks, but Matthew didn't have the time. His feet were nowhere near the petals so he steered his bike straight into a bush and flew off the seat.</p><p>"Matthew?" she called worriedly.</p><p>There was rustling before he popped his head out of the brush. After a moment of blinking he shook leaves out of his hair. "I'm quite alright."</p><p>"You two must be more careful," the aging man chastised in French.</p><p>The older woman next to him scoffed. "Oh, Albert, they are children having fun." She turned to Matthew. "<em>Tu vas bien, mon enfant</em>?" </p><p>"Yes, though I cannot say the same for my bike." He stood up and eased the front wheel away from the bush. The metal was bent inward though he didn't look bothered until he saw his muddied knees. "Or my trousers," he mourned.</p><p>The woman laughed.  "With a face like yours, ruined trousers shouldn't be a problem."</p><p>Matthew gave a mock bow and Cordelia gave an unladylike snort. The woman beamed.</p><p>"Such a lovely pair," she tutted. Matthew tried to speak but the woman pulled on her frowning husband. "Let's go, darling. Leave the youth to their mischief."</p><p>The man extended his arm much like Matthew did with her, and the two went off without another glance. Cordelia watched them go with a small nugget of envy. Would she have someone by her side when she was that old?</p><p>"Shall we continue?" Matthew asked her, appearing alongside her.</p><p>She nodded, but couldn't shake the woman's comment. <em>With a face like yours, ruined trousers shouldn't be a problem</em>.</p><p>Matthew was beautiful, bright and shining like many of the novelties they'd seen this trip. She’d thought it during their first dance in London and she thought it now as he helped her climb back onto her bike. She straightened only to see Matthew staring.</p><p>"A curl escaped, just there," he murmured. </p><p>"Fix it," she replied, the words slipping out before she could stop them.</p><p>Their eyes lock. It was common for green eyes to be a shade of jade or emerald, but Matthew’s eyes were a deep, moss. His hair was brushing across his forehead as the breeze blew and she didn't move. Slowly, he reached up and tucked the strand behind her ear. Just as quickly he pulled back.</p><p>“I apologize,” he rushed out, staggering back several steps. “I swore not to press my affections on you. I’m so sorry, Daisy—”</p><p>“It’s alright.” Cordelia watched as the guilt stricken look on his face didn’t leave. She knew it was time to share her thoughts. “I think perhaps—maybe if I—” His face was strained as she stumbled over her words. She barreled forward, horrified but undeterred. “May I ask you something?"</p><p>"Of course," he said, refusing to meet her gaze. Instead, he fiddled with the ends of his scarf.</p><p>"If I wasn't married to James, if he and I had never gotten engaged," Cordelia clenched her hands, "do you think we would have courted?”</p><p>A flush bloomed on Matthew’s cheeks that spoke of more than the cold. He was silent for a painful moment before finally looking at her with a rueful smile. “I would like to think I would’ve mustered the courage. If I thought you felt the same.”</p><p>“I still feel for James as I did and the last thing I would ever want is to hurt you,” Cordelia paused and licked her lips. Putting her thoughts in order was more difficult than she anticipated. “But you said that love isn’t always a strike of lightening. That it can be vines slow growing and all encompassing.”</p><p>“I did.” Matthew’s expression was strained, but Cordelia forced the words out of her. She could be honest him no matter what. It was a truth of their friendship.</p><p>“Perhaps, with enough time and enough space, with enough patience from both of us, I could grow to feel the same for you.”</p><p>Cautious hope creeped into his eyes. "Daisy, you don't have to—I value our friendship above all else."</p><p>“We are great friends, Matthew, but I also know that you are beautiful and kind and good.” She took a hesitant step forward. “I am saying that you shouldn't assume my affections cannot grow beyond what they are now. Quite the opposite, in fact.”</p><p>Matthew swallowed, his eyes never leaving hers. “Are you sure? I never expected you to feel the same. I only wished for you to know how wonderful you are.”</p><p>Cordelia took a shaking breathe before reaching out and intertwined their fingers. Her hands were covered in kid gloves but Matthew's were bare and quick to fold over hers. "I'm sure. It may take time, but I care a great deal about you."</p><p>"I'll wait," Matthew murmured. He stared at their joined hands and then his eyes flickered to her face, searching. "I'll wait forever."</p><p>Hope bloomed in her chest, but a fiery warmth did too. She and Matthew weren’t Herondales. There were no myths of a single, great love for either of them. <em>Perhaps, our chance at love has yet to be found. Perhaps instead of a corner house on Curzon Street, I can find it in a park garden hundreds of miles from home.</em></p><hr/><p> </p><p>They returned to their hotel in a flushed daze. If she’d expected awkwardness, there was none. Matthew was his same charming self, although he did hold Cordelia tighter to his side. When they reached their hotel, he escorted her back to her rooms. She was telling him about her trip to Brussels when they both stopped short when they saw who was standing next to her door.</p><p>“Alastair?”</p><p>Her brother’s arms were crossed and his glare, which had been directed toward the floor, turned icy when it moved over her shoulder. He advanced on them as soon as he looked up. “I should kill you, Fairchild.”</p><p>Cordelia grabbed Alastair’s arm and yanked him back. “You’ll do nothing of the sort.”</p><p>Alastair and Matthew glowered at each other, but she tugged again on her brother’s arm again. “What are you doing here? Is Mâmân alright?” Cordelia asked in panicked realization.</p><p>He continued frowning, but he shook her off and took a step back. He appraised her before shaking his head. “She’s fine. Very pregnant and very worried, but fine.”</p><p>The sinking feeling in her gut only worsened. “Then why are you here? I told you in my letter that everything is fine.”</p><p>Alastair arched a brow. “You ran off to Paris with Matthew Fairchild. Your husband’s <em>parabatai</em>. Weeks after your wedding.”</p><p>“I was tired and in desperate need of some freedom.” Her eyes flickered to Matthew, his eyes softening. “We’ve been sightseeing and enjoying each other’s company. That’s all."</p><p>Alastair ran a hand through his hair, mussing the neat look. “You can’t run from your problems, Layla.” He examined the both of them before heaving a great sigh. “Pack your things. We have to leave as soon as possible.”</p><p>“Matthew and I are here for a trip. We've hardly been gone two weeks and Baba’s funeral isn’t for another—”</p><p>“They need you.” Alastair paused and looked at Matthew. “Both of you.”</p><p>Matthew and Cordelia exchanged a worried glance. “Who does? Why?”</p><p>Alastair grimaced. “It’s Lucie. You must return to London at once.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>platonic or romantic, fairstairs is my jam</p></blockquote></div></div>
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